


To Call My Own

by TrouserFreeTuesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, background Cullen/Female Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrouserFreeTuesday/pseuds/TrouserFreeTuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian buys a house and it is sickeningly domestic, and yet Dorian doesn't have it in him be anything but stupidly happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Call My Own

“You bought a house?”

Maker help him, Noelle sounds positively delighted.

“How absolutely domestic!”

Dorian tugs at the amulet around his neck, glowing a brilliant shade of green. He shouldn’t have told her, she can’t keep a secret to save her life and - then he hears a rustle, and a murmur.

“Cullen’s with you,” Dorian says flatly.

He shouldn’t be surprised, the two are inseparable. To the point of being obnoxiously so, it could be argued. There’s a low chuckle, followed by a: “Hello, Dorian.”

Cullen is marginally more trustworthy, but that doesn’t mean he can keep his mouth shut either. Dorian’s life is going to the subject of yet another of their mornings, he’s sure. It’s not he goes gabbing about to Maeveris about whatever update they provide him with. It’s unfair, truly.

“I was going to tell him anyway,” Noelle says. Probably over breakfast, like it’s her information to just pass along. “So tell me -us - more! Where is it? Is it scenic? Please tell me you got a beach house, I hear they’re remarkable.”

“I’m not letting you live through me just because you chose to stay in dreary Fereldan.”

“You miss it.”

Dorian huffs. “Absolutely not.”

Tevinter is warm, with good (properly cooked, even) food. Granted, he’s is perpetually about to be stabbed in the back at any given moment, but you take the good with the bad.

“You miss us,” Noelle corrects.

It’s true, but Dorian still lies. “Absolutely not. I hear enough about your tedious farm life as it is.”

They’ve retired. To a farm. It’s all very rustic and Fereldan, and Dorian wants no part in it. Sometimes, when they speak in the mornings, he can hear chickens. In the house. That only happens in Tevinter if there’s about to a ritual, to keep them as pets seems barbaric. Unhygienic creatures as they are.

“I’ll have you know,” Cullen interjects. He must be leaning over the crystal, as his voice suddenly grows much louder. The few times he’s spoken to Cullen through it, Cullen has shouted at the crystal like he’s a nearly deaf old man. “That our potatoes are growing extremely well this year.”

“I’m hanging up.” Dorian grabs for the crystal before he can get sucked into another update on the Rutherford Family’s Potato Harvest.

“Dorian, Dorian-” Dorian’s hand pauses over the crystal. Noelle’s tone makes him pause, there’s something in it that Dorian can’t quite put his finger on. “He’ll love it.”

Andraste Preserve him, he’d better. Dorian spent enough on the blasted place.

 

 

***

 

 

Dorian hadn’t quite found a way to let the Bull that he’d purchased the villa. They talked nightly, but Dorian didn’t have the words. And perhaps he was nervous. It had been close to a year since the pair had been able to meet, and even the thought of seeing Bull again has Dorian’s throat tightening up in a way that’s frankly embarrassing. Dorian’s pretty sure if he tells Bull he’s going to get teary, and that’s not happening.

So, no, Bull has no idea.

And, at this point, Dorian has every intention of keeping it this way. He rather likes surprises, after all.

Maevaris had been all too happy to lend her handwriting to the project. So, around now Dorian would figure, the Chargers would be receiving a letter from Gaius Marrari, a rather unimportant magister eager to work his way up the social ladder. He was, like any ambitious magister, to have a grand party - this time had his southern Villa, and needed some extra muscle around. For when (not if, never if) things got weird.

Dorian’s not sure Bull will bite. Despite their relationship, Bull’s still a bit hung up on Tevinter blood magic. And, of course, he may see through it. He’s not an agent for the Qun any longer, but his well of resources hasn’t dried up completely.

Then, just as Dorian’s settled into the bath, the crystal begins glowing. Dorian turns it on and prays it’s not Noelle. He loves her, truly, she’s his best friend but this would hardly be the time to talk. It’s a relief when Bull’s voice carries through.

“Hey, Kadan.”

“Amatus.” Dorian doesn’t care how ridiculously lovestruck he sounds when he says it. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, yours too.” Bull sighs, and Dorian would swear he sounds happy. “The ‘Vints causing you any trouble?”

“No more than usual. Would you believe I’ve gone over two weeks without an attempted assassination?”

“Hey, new record.”

“I should get a sign and hang it above the door. ‘It’s been fourteen days since someone tried to kill Dorian Pavus.’”

Bull snorts.

Dorian rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t imagine it will last for much longer. I’m to go to dinner tomorrow to discuss some reform policies, and it will an honest surprise if everyone survives the night.”

“So a normal night in Minrathous, then?”

Dorian laughs. The bathwater is warm, and he can feel himself relaxing. “Just about.”

There’s a pause, and Dorian can almost hear Bull thinking. “So, the Chargers just got an offer from some ‘Vint.”

“Oh?” Dorian tries to pretend he’s clueless.

“Gaius Marrari, you know him?”

Dorian hums. “Not well, no. He’s from one of the ‘Lesser’ houses, less magic and all that. As I understand it, he spends too much of the family money to get himself much further than the brothel.”

“Well, says here that he got himself a villa.’”

“Certainly auspicious of him. Anywhere close?”

Bull grunts. “Near Nessum, a long ride from Minrathous.”

“Not that far, truthfully. Closer than Fereldan, at the very least.”

“Shit, yeah, even with horses it’s gonna take us at least two months.”

“Are you considering it?”

Bull must be scratching at his chin; Dorian can hear the scraping of his stubble. “The pay is good, and I think we swing through Orlais on the way and pick up some of those tiny cakes, and, well.” Bull chuckles nervously. “Well. It’s closer to you.”

“And you’d work for a Tevinter magister just to get closer to little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I’d be in their capital if you’d let me,” Bull says. “Fuck, kadan, I miss you.”

Dorian swallows thickly. “Of course you do, who wouldn’t?”

This gets a small laugh, barely more than a huff, but still. “Yeah, big guy, you’re the best. So.” Bull’s voice drops to that low register that travels straight south through Dorian. “You alone?”

“I’m not about to speaking to my Qunari lover in the front of the whole imperium, Bull.”

“So that’s a yes, then.”

“Of course it’s a yes.”

“Good.”

Bull talks, constantly. Just, in general. It’s his state of being. If he’s quiet, he’s either eating or something is wrong. So Dorian tends to let Bull chatter, sometimes aimlessly (though it never truly is aimless with Bull, he’s always got a goal or a point somewhere in there), and sometimes not. Tonight seems to be one of those ‘sometimes not’ nights, with his voice just barely above a low growl, and describes in vivid detail exactly what he’d like to do to Dorian, and that does such marvelous things to Dorian.

And soon, he thinks (hopes), they’ll actually be alone together to act it out in person.

 

 

***

 

The next time Dorian speaks to Noelle, he’s on the Imperial Highway, heading south. He’s alone, dressed in a plain brown robe more common with servant’s than with Magister’s. Maevaris had, in another fit of brilliance, sent a decoy caravan north. That one was suited for a magister, gilded carriages with finely bred horses and a litany of staff all convinced they were taking one Lord Dorian Pavus north to his mother’s Northern Estate.

The sending crystal grows warm, and Dorian answers without pulling off the road. Probably unwise, not just anyone has sending crystals after all. He spent too long chatting with Bull the other night, however, and he’s got some time to make up for.

“Dorian!” Noelle says, delightedly. Dorian can hear chickens in the background.

“Missed my voice, did you?”

“It’s certainly better than-” She stops, and it sounds as if she’s turned her head away, “Stop, you _beast_ , I am feeding you, there’s no need to be a tit about this.”

“Baron Cluck is leading yet another coup?”

“He’s trying - ow, fuck - too. Anyway! Have you gotten to your fancy Tevinter Villa yet?”

“Sadly not, I’m desperate for a bath and a glass of good wine.”

How he spent months mucking about the countryside is truly behind him.

Noelle laughs. “Well, you will have one other thing to look forward too. Cullen and I have bought you a housewarming present, it should be on it’s way there now.”

There’s a wicked edge to her tone that sets Dorian’s teeth on edge. “Noelle, what did you do?”

This time, her laugh grows louder and slightly maniacal. “You’ll see.”

Dorian sighs and prays Sera isn’t involved.

 ***

 

Tevinter Villas are a sight to be seen. Dorian’s newly purchase abode is surrounded by high stone walls, with a single cast-iron gate to allow guests into. The iron twists and curls into elaborate patterns along the gate. Orlais influence, Dorian would guess, given it’s resemblance to flowers. Through the gate, there’s ample garden space. All the trees have been cleared out, a bit of a safety concern for any life-conscious Tevinter Magister.  Trees are lovely additions to forests, and double as excellent hiding places for would be assassins and spies. To prevent the appearance of too-much grass (and the association with rolling Fereldan fields - droll), shrubs are arranged through the lawn like railing to a path. Once, they were likely carved into elaborate grassy sculptures but they’re currently uneven green lumps. Dorian tries to stifle his distaste. This villa has been unoccupied for months, it’s not like someone is going to come in and trim the shrubbery on a whim.  Perhaps tomorrow he’ll head into a village a few hours away and see if something can be done to fix up the garden. Ivy creeps up the white walls of the house, twisting its way all the up to the second floor windows. It’s even surrounding the pillars that shade the front of the house, holding up a balcony on the second floor.

The red roof _shines_ in the warm afternoon sun.

The whole thing is sickeningly idyllic. It belongs in a painting.

Which he complains to Noelle about once he’s found a comfortable looking chair to settle in. There’s a lot of furniture to move and uncover, most of it is still draped in white cloth. The previous owner had left a lot behind, scattered around the house. Dorian had also had several pieces of furniture delivered, but those have all been deposited safely where they belong.

There is, of course, another problem of dealing with staggering amount of white cloth Dorian will have when all this done. Bull could probably fashion restraints out of some of them, but _all_ is frankly ludicrous. Noelle laughs at him.

Perhaps rightly so.

 

 

***

 

Noelle’s ‘present’ arrives several days later, an unnecessarily huge wooden box that takes several men to lift into the atrium of the house.  The moment he’s left alone, he grabs Noelle’s crystal.

He barely waits for her to say “hello”.

“What have you done.” His tone is flat, hardly questioning. Frankly, he’s not sure he wants an answer. The box is nearly as tall as he is, and has been nailed shut by an excessive amount of nails.

Noelle laughs. “Oh, _you’ll see_.” She doesn’t say it in a menacing way, but Dorian still feels as if he’s been threatened.

“Noelle.”

“Dorian. Now, you need to promise me something - you are not to open it until Bull gets there.”

“I’m supposed to leave a giant wooden crate in the front of my house until then?”

“Unless you can move it, I don’t see what else you’re going to do. Just do not open it. It’s for the both of you.”

There’s the indistinct sound of Cullen puttering about the house, before his voice starts to grow clearer.

“-that Dorian?”

“Mhm!” Noelle hums. “Their present got there!”

“‘-rian,” Cullen says. “For what it’s worth, I had no part in this. Good luck.”

           

Dorian stares at the box in front of him, as if willing it do something. Fall open, naturally, an act of the Maker. Collapse under the weight of his stare, perhaps. What in Thedas could she have sent over that is this large? Noelle lives on a farm and everything she owns is ridiculously rustic.

Sometime during this, the crystal glows warmly against his chest.

“Would you believe-” Bull says, the moment Dorian wraps his palm around it. “That I’m actually not hating the Tevinter scenery right about now?”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Dorian cautions. He grips the crystal a little bit tighter and tries to stop the smile growing on his face. Foolish that he’s still doing this after all these years.  “There’s centuries of race rivalry that reliant on you hating it here.”

“Well, it’s no Minrathous, I’ll grant you,” Bull says, “But the weather’s nice and the food isn’t porridge, so I’m enjoying what I can.”

"You’re forgetting Tevinter ale,” Dorian adds.

 “Right!” Bull laughs as if he can’t believe he forgot about that. “I think Krem’s regretting that perk right about now. _Isn’t that right, Krem?”_

 Krem says something inaudibly, but angrily, in the background.

 “Are you on the road?” Dorian asks, and strains to hear something in the background. It’s mostly silent, the sounds of rustling and Bull’s breathing the only noticeable things. And then, what sounds like heaving.

 “Nah, took a break for the night, we’re at some shabby inn tonight. The only one desperate enough for customers to led a Qunari in, so you can imagine what that’s like.”

 “Probably still better than sharing a tent with Blackwall, I expect.”

 “Hey!” Bull protests, “He’s alright.”

 “He _snores_. And probably has _fleas_.”

 “And you talk in your sleep,” Bull says, like it’s a trump card.

 "I do not.”

 “Oh, you definitely do. Reciting full verses of Orlesian poetry, all night long.”

 “Well.” Dorian huffs. “Now I know you’re making things up.”

Bull laughs. A warm, rumbling chuckle that makes Dorian’s heart ache and twist and reminds him of long, lazy mornings back in their room at Skyhold. Before they had other obligations, and Dorian could spend all morning intertwined with Bull.

“A tent alone with you would still be better than this,” Bull remarks.

“ _Chief_ ,” Krem says loudly, sharply. “I am _right_ next to-” More heaving, violently.

“That’s it, Krem, just let it out,” Bull says, voice fainter. “Hey, Dorian - I should probably go right away, get Krem some water or something, but we’re about a weeks ride away from that Marrari’s place. After that, I was thinking we could take the boys up north for a bit - you know, take a bit of a vacation.”

Bull’s tone is hinting at something, darting around a question that’s possible answer makes him nervous. They’ve been in this position before, just barely running into each other, but it isn’t always possible for Dorian to get away. Bull is always understanding, but it still stings the way Bull tries to pretend he isn’t hurt. This isn’t how either of them want things to be, but Dorian’s given Bull so many chances to go and find someone he could actually _be_ with. It would be easier, certainly. But Bull’s still here, stubbornly refusing to leave. That may be the worst. Dorian has finally found someone he _wants_ to be with, and he can’t.

Dorian could lie now - say he’s too busy, and the disappointment would be less crushing for him. This is how he knows he’s a soft touch, however, since he knows he can’t bear to do this to Bull again.

“Funny,” Dorian says coyly. “I was thinking I needed some time away from Minrathous.”

“Yeah?” Dorian can hear the smile in Bull’s tone.

“Yeah,” Dorian says. He takes a few steps towards the door of the house, to stare at the cast-iron gates. “Just let me know what hovel of a town you’re heading to and I can arrange an impromptu trip to the country.”

Bull exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this whole conversation. “That would be-” he stops, like he’s catching himself. “Would be- _fuck_.”  Except that this isn’t a happy “fuck”, this is an oh-no ‘fuck’. Bull sighs, and mutters under this breath. “We’re gonna need a new bucket.”

They must have drank a _lot_ to get Krem vomiting. Dorian is almost glad to not be with Bull this very instant.

“Hey, kadan, I’ll see you soon.”

“Until then, Amatus.”

 

***

 

Dorian has a whole week to get this place ready for guests. For Bull. Most of the work he does himself, moving furniture and dusting what surfaces he can. Normally, he’d stick up and his nose and say he’s above this. Servants, however, lead to gossip, so he is largely on his own.

He does head to town the first chance he gets, to buy enough food for the Chargers (Maker knows they eat like horses) and hire someone to fix the shrubbery. Of course, no one in the village knows how to make sculptures, but Dorian is willing to settle for ‘maintained’ at this point. The giant crate still remains unopened in the atrium of the house, surrounding by faded frescos and marble pillars. Noelle is months away, and yet Dorian is still someone worried that she will know the moment he opens it. And, frankly, he’s growing increasingly concerned about its contents. Mercifully, it’s been silent for so long that Dorian no longer thinks it contains a living creature. If Noelle had somehow managed to crate a dragon it would have escaped by now, and any farm creatures would have made some sort of noise. Or died and started to smell.

When Bull is about a day out, Dorian manages to get the villa into a vaguely respectable condition. The atrium now has dark red couches, slightly dusty, but still there. The atrium leads into an open area, with a shallow fountain in the middle. Dorian has moved several tables and chairs into the room, so that now the fountain is surrounded. The fountain water did an excellent job polishing the black and white tiles that fill the room. Dorian probably spent the most effort on the bedrooms. Or, his ( _theirs_ ), actually. The Chargers can get their own rooms ready if need be, there are beds and they can figure out the rest.

Their room has a sturdy canopy bed made of a dark mahogany wood.  Curtains drape over the sides of the bed, surrounding it completely unless they’re tied to the ornate posts. Dorian spent a great deal of time fussing over the blankets, which had been sent over early along with the bed. It was perhaps silly, since they’re both used to poor quality blankets, but if this was to be theirs it also had to be comfortable. If Dorian is going to indulge in anything, he will indulge fully. There is wine and ale sitting on the dresser, next to two glasses. The bed is opposite a fireplace, which is small and unremarkable. Two chairs sit in front of the fireplace, with a footstool between the two of them. Both chairs are worn leather wingbacked chairs, that remind Dorian of his library at Skyhold. This room is devoid of bookshelves, an error that will have to fixed at a later time.

The night before Bull is set to arrive, Dorian chats with Bull through the crystal. They talk of their great northern vacation, and what they’ll do and what they’ll do when they finally leave their room, all while Dorian imagines spending quiet weekends spent sitting across from Bull in those giant chairs. The fire will crackle and pop, while Dorian reads and Bull drinks a glass of ale. Their feet will be tangled together on the footstool and Dorian will be perfectly content.

Dorian’s heart catches in his throat for a moment. “Amatus-” Dorian starts.

“Everything alright, Kadan?”

“Fine,” Dorian says, and tries to stop himself from imagining Bull sitting next to him. How he’d tilt his head to the side and frown just slightly - the left side of his mouth crooking down more than the right. “Just.” Dorian almost laughs. “Just _homesick_ , I suppose.”

“Missing drafty ancient castles or just me?”

“If I’m ever returning to a castle, I want fully built walls,” Dorian says with a small laugh. “Mostly, though, I’m missing you.”

“You may not be saying that if you could smell us right now,” Bull says. “Do you think this Marrari guy will let us bathe?”

Dorian crinkles his nose. “I certainly hope so. Unless he wants to repulse his guests.”

“Good,” Bull says. “Good. Hey, we’ll be seeing each other soon. Try and hold up until then, yeah? Can’t have one of Tevinter’s finest magisters moping around all day.”

Dorian snorts. “You can’t become Tevinter’s finest magister without a certain amount of moodiness.”

“I bet. Hey, what kind of food do you think there’ll be tomorrow.”

 

 

***

“Noelle Rutherford’s crystal, Cullen speaking.”

“Hello, Cullen,” Dorian says. Dawn is just starting to break and Dorian is sitting on the balcony. He isn’t often up this early. The sunrise is too break and too pink, and Dorian’s eyes hurt. “How are you?”

"I've had better days.” His tone is pinched, tight. His headaches are still bothering him. “But, all things considered, I’m still fine. How are you? Has Bull turned up yet?”

“Not quite yet, he’s supposed to arrive sometime today. Is Noelle there?”

Cullen clears his throat. “Not at present. She took Lord Barkley for a walk to town, she should be back any moment.” He says their dog's name as if he is verbally rolling his eyes. He loves the dog, Dorian has seen him sneaking the dog scraps and cooing at him when he thinks everyone else is preoccupied.  Cullen, however, seems to have some fondness of complaining about his wife’s habit of giving her pets titles.  Her horse had been a sturdy Fereldan cart horse named Duke Hooves, and Josephine’s best efforts could not get her to change it.  “I can tell her you...called."

Dorian thinks about it, for about a second. “No, no. What say you to a game of chess?”

If he doesn’t distract himself he’s going to wind up making the bed for the third time this morning.

 

***

 

Cullen beats Dorian twice before Dorian can see the Chargers on the horizon. They’re on horseback, moving slowly. Bull leads, and he’s visible even from a distance. Dorian ends his conversation with Cullen abruptly, hurrying inside and down the stairs. He stops, sharply, in front of a mirror in the hallway. He’s been up since before the sun to make sure he was presentable. It has been _months_ since they’ve seen each other, and Dorian wants to be memorable. He musses up his hair in the mirror, so it’s just the right amount of effortlessly disheveled. His eyes are lined with dark kohl, and the bags under his eyes aren’t too pronounced. The royale sea silk robes are light against his skin, perfect for the warm weather, and are contrasted by shining gold trim. A serpent bracelet wraps itself around Dorian’s upper arm, and another circles around the buckle of Dorian’s belt.

As wonderful as Dorian looks, and as much as he likes admiring himself, he wastes no time in hurrying to the front door. From there, he stands and watches. In the early afternoon light he’ll be hard to see from outside, but allows him to watch the front gate. He’d unlocked it this morning, and the Chargers lead their horses through with little problem. Bull is casing the place, the way he’s looking around. He looks suspicious, perhaps at the lack of servants, and he says something low to the rest of the Chargers. Dorian waits until they’ve started to approach the Villa itself before stepping into view.

Dorian had planned to say something witty. He had been rehearsing this moment for _weeks._ It all goes out of the window the moment he properly sees Bull. Somehow Dorian continues to forget how impressive The Iron Bull is to look at. Tall and towering, nearly covering the sun behind his horns. Each time, Dorian is surprised. In the heat, Bull has forgone a shirt (not that Dorian is complaining) and the only thing covering his chest is the strap that keeps his axe hanging on his back. His trousers are a deep blue, slightly less ridiculous than this green and purple ones had been.  Dorian takes this all in before looking at Bull’s face, because Bull’s face will be his undoing. It always is.

Bull is looking at Dorian as if it’s unsure if this is all real. As if Dorian is some sort of miracle, standing in front of a fancy house. Dorian doesn’t try and stop the warmth in his eyes, or swallow down the lump in his throat. What a sap he is, getting misty-eyed over all this. Slowly, Dorian smiles. Not a small, polite smile, but one that is so big it hurts his cheeks.

The Chargers start to spread out, leaving Bull and Dorian standing alone. Neither move, or say anything. Dorian doesn’t remember how to. All he wants to do is stare, commit this moment to memory.

The standoff ends when Bull takes an incremental step forward and Dorian suddenly remembers how his feet are supposed to work. He runs at Bull, and just about crashes into him (and it’s an active effort to not leap into Bull’s arms). Roughly, he grabs at Bull’s horns and tugs him down into a kiss. It’s messy, and heated, and Dorian doesn’t really care. Because Bull is here, and they have time.

Bull squeezes his arms around Dorian’s waist as they kiss, and lifts Dorian off the ground. They may be spinning, Dorian’s not sure. He feels dizzy, delirious, like the world’s whole axis has shifted and righted itself again. When they finally pull away, Dorian wraps his arms around Bull’s neck and peppers kisses against Bull’s cheek. It’s all very sentimental.

“Amatus,” he says, not even trying to hide the crack in his voice.

“Kadan,” Bull responds, his voice low and rough in Dorian’s ear. “How-”

“I bought a house.” Dorian laughs, weakly, as Bull lowers him to the ground. Bull keeps his hands on Dorian, arms still wrapped around his waist. Still holding him tightly. “For us.”

“You bought a house,” Bull repeats, softly. “For us.”

Dorian laughs again. It sounds ridiculous. Like the set up to a joke. He nods, smiles softly.

Bull pulls Dorian even closer against him and buries his face in Dorian’s hair. “You’re fucking incredible.”

 

***

 

Bull and the Chargers get the grand tour of the place. The whole time, Bull hovers near Dorian. Sometimes wrapping an arm around Dorian’s shoulder, other times simply just standing a bit too close. Dorian decides he’ll give it a while before telling him off. This is a luxury they haven’t had in a while.

“I could get used to this,” Bull says later, once they’re finally alone and finally in their ( _their!_ ) room. Dorian only hums, impatiently tugging at Bull’s belt. He nips, lightly, at Dorian’s now-exposed collarbone. He’s a bit too distracted to respond, but later, when the Bull’s touch stops sending shivers down his spine, he’ll wonder why he’d ever want to get used to this.

You’d think, after being apart for so long, they’d have forgotten things. But Bull remembers _exactly_ the spot to bite on Dorian’s neck, and Dorian knows just how to grab at Bull’s horns to make him growl, and things carry on as if there’d never been an interruption. Bull has some new scars, which make Dorian’s brow crease in worry. This, in turn, makes Bull laugh.  It’s still Bull, however, and Bull is still his.

“How long do I have you for?” Bull asks, afterwards. Dorian is lying on his stomach, one arm draped over Bull’s stomach. His eyes are lidded, limbs heavy, and Bull keeps running his hand through Dorian’s hair. He’s too tired to swat Bull’s hand away.

“Two weeks,” Dorian says, and it sounds like a lifetime.

Bull beams. “You’re spoiling me, Pavus.”

“You were spoiled already,” Dorian responds.

 

***

It takes an embarrassingly long time to remember the giant present in the atrium, but Dorian and Bull also spend most of the afternoon locked up in their room, so Dorian feels as if it’s excusable. It takes Bull, Krem, and Rocky to pry it open, and while they work Dorian calls Noelle.

She’s delighted, naturally, and Dorian can hear her call Cullen over to listen.

Finally, the crate falls apart and Dorian’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit,” Bull says.

“What the fuck, Noelle.”

Noelle laughs.

“It’s perfect,” Bull says, while Dorian says, “It’s hideous.”

It is easily the ugliest, gaudiest piece of furniture Dorian has ever seen. Somehow, what looks like a dragon skull has been retrofitted into a ridiculous looking chair.  The bottom of the jaw has placed on a platform and stuffed with a cushion, while the top of the jaw is raised and placed vertically, to give the appearance of sitting in a dragon’s mouth. Bull keeps running his hands over it, in awe.

“Dorian,” Bull says. His eye is sparkling, slightly manic. “I am going to fuck you on this.”

Dorian freezes. Bull must be excited, because it takes until Cullen _guffaws_ before Bull seems to realize that they are actually surrounded by others. Bull still isn’t apologetic, but he laughs. Krem huffs, and rolls his eyes.

“Well!” Noelle says. “That’s quite enough of that, I think. Have fun, you two!” And then the crystal dulls. Bull scratches the back of his neck.

“This,” he says, smiling at Dorian, “is the coolest.”

“I refuse to have this where anyone can see it.”

 

***

 

The chair is relocated to an abandoned room on the second floor, and Bull makes good on his promise. Somehow, after all of this, it takes until that evening for things to feel earnestly, properly real. Dorian stirs from a late-afternoon nap, hazy and warm, to the sound of a crackling fireplace and pages turning. When he cracks open an eyelid, he sees Bull sitting in one of the chairs, idly reading one of the few books Dorian had packed for the trip. If he notices Dorian’s awake, he doesn’t move. Dorian watches him, perhaps for longer than he should, just to revel in it.

Dorian rises, crossing the room over to Bull. Bull only barely glances up as Dorian pads over, simply smiles and returns his focus to the book. The extra chair is forgone as Dorian folds himself up in Bull’s lap, resting his head against the crook of Bull’s neck. Bull’s hand settles, warm and firm, against Dorian’s hip and traces lazy circles with his thumb. It is almost exactly what Dorian imagined, and yet it’s somehow better. He imagined being content. And this, being curled up against Bull in the warm firelight, is much, _much_ better than being content.

It’s sheer, unfiltered happiness.

It’s home.


End file.
